


Outside of Time

by WriterGirl128



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst and Feels, Danny x Sam if you squint, Gen, Guess Who's Back, One Shot, Post-Canon, TUE references, as of right now at least, back again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: Danny’s jaw clenched tight with a snap. Outside, the darkened sky flickered with lightning, dark grey clouds blocking any trace of sunlight. Another chill went down his spine, a familiar yet always startling feeling, and now that people weren’t absorbed in their essays, they noticed the wisp of breath that escaped his lips. The first time it had caused him to drop his pencil to the floor – this time, it caused a wave of chatter among the students, who turned their glances anxiously to the darkened world outside.Something was coming. Even they could feel it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm unsure where this is going but it's a wild ride

They were in the middle of their English final, senior year, when it happened. It was their last day of class, their last hour and a half of high school ever. The classroom was dead silent save for the sound of pencils tracing out words on paper, the students so ready to just _finish_ this final and be _done_ with high school that not even the A-listers wasted any time in buckling down to work.

One trio in particular was working furiously to finish, their focus and concentration almost palpable as they wrote. Tucker Foley, the genius techno-geek with an unhealthy addiction to technology and meat, was biting his lip in concentration as he worked. The pencil in his hand moved only short distances, imprinting his infamous chicken scratch on the page for Lancer to have to decode later. Samantha Manson looked calmer. She paused every few seconds to reread what she’d written, before either nodding slightly to herself and continuing on or grimacing and flipping her pencil over to erase the apparently sub-par words. Daniel Fenton, so normally one to appear on the brink of falling asleep, so often sporting dark rings around his eyes from lack of sleep and heavy eyelids, looked positively alight with confidence. Eyes wide open and focused in on the work in front of him, his pencil moved carefully across the page, slowly but with a sense of urgency he wrote – he knew this final was timed, but still put obvious care and effort into each word he chose to mark down on the page. He paused, eyes flickering back and forth as he read, then glanced at the top of his page. He allowed himself a satisfied smile before he turned to start a new page.

It was an essay about change, of all things – personal change, academic change, occupational change. Really, it gave the students an opportunity to choose what to write about. They spent four years there learning how to write this way or that, now it was their chance to build their own prompt.  A centralized idea was given, sure – but they had to take it from there. There were no documents to read in preparation, there’s no synthesizing information, no data or statistics. It was just them, their words and their experiences. Their ideas, raw.

About twenty minutes of class had passed when a low rumble resonated to the room from somewhere outside the building. Some, so used to the gongs-on of Amity Park simply flicked their gaze to the window momentarily before returning to their work.

“It’s just the construction workers across the street,” the pinched, female teacher proctoring the exam with Mr. Lancer said coolly, shooting glares at those whose gazes lingered anywhere but their papers. Eyes returned to the work, except for one pair, blue eyes, which remained raised and alert.

“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer cut in, before the harsher teacher could call him out, “Is there something wrong?”

Curious, almost eager eyes flicked up from their papers to regard Danny wearily. Staying silent and listening, eyes still alert as he watched the window, Danny slowly shook his head. Disappointed eyes returned to their essays, the small scratching of pencils against paper resuming.

Lancer gave him a small nod. “Then you’d better get back to work, don’t you think?”

Then the boy’s gaze found his teacher’s, holding it for just a moment before nodding slightly and dropping his head back to his essay. Lancer didn’t miss, however, the way the pupil’s free hand stayed tight and tense under his desk as he began working again, the tension in his body as he seemed to force his hand to write words it didn’t seem he cared too much about, anymore. Lancer also didn’t miss the quick glances he exchanged with his two best friends, who also seemed unnaturally tense compared to before.

But a few minutes passed, and then a few more, and as they got back into the rhythm of writing they had at first, everyone seemed to forget about the non-disturbance. That was of course, until about twenty-five minutes later, when the sound of a pencil clattering to the floor startled the class into looking up.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

The words were muttered under his breath, but as the room had been so silent, eyes immediately flew to Danny, his frustration clearly audible to everyone. His eyes closed for a second as he almost visibly deflated in defeat, before he raised his hand half-heartedly. “Uh, Mr. Lancer, can I, er—may I be excused?”

“You may _not_ ,” the proctoring teacher cut in haughtily. Confused and surprised students turned their gaze to her, not expecting the answer. In the back of the room, Dash Baxter looked downright offended at the words. The teacher, someone Danny himself had never met before, didn’t seem to care. “Mr. Fenton, was it?” she continued, zeroing in on Danny and approaching his desk. He nodded, wide eyes slightly taken aback, tendrils of panic creeping into them. “Mr. Fenton. You do understand that this final is worth thirty percent of your final grade, do you not?”

A ripple of clashes sounded from outside, in a series – like a jackhammer down a cymbal line. Danny’s hands tightened around the edges of his desk. “Yeah, yes, I do, but I – ”

“But nothing, Mr. Fenton!”  Another rumbling sound, similar to before, but closer now. This time, the view from the window was stormy, trees and bushes waving violently as if hit by a sudden wall of wind. It howled through the window, and around the room, students hastened to hold their papers in place. The teacher, as if oblivious to the darkening sky and brewing storm, pressed on. “Now would you mind _not_ disturbing your classmates and letting them get back to work? You may not care about your grade or your future, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the class shares your priorities.”

Danny’s eyes widened even more at the words – did she seriously not _know?_ He cast a desperate glance at his own English teacher. “Mr. Lancer?”

“Don’t you try to _undermine my authority_ by asking someone else!” the short tempered teacher screeched. Green tendrils of mist snaked their way through the air outside, and another rumble through the walls of the building seemed to pierce right into the ice core deep in Danny’s chest. “This is exactly the reason they asked an outside official to come proctor final exams this week – because the teachers here have been far too lenient with letting underachieving students get away with mischief!”

There was a cry of outrage from the back of the room. “Do you seriously not _know_ that he’s—”

An all-too familiar chill crept through the walls around them, and Dash cut off suddenly, eyes growing wide. The proctor turned on her heel to glare more intently at Danny, as if he were the cause of it. Rising from his seat, Danny held his hands up in an attempt to calm her. “Okay, maybe they do, and I’m sorry, I’m not trying to undermine you, I just really have to—”

“ _Sit down and finish your exam, please, Mr. Fenton!”_

Danny’s jaw clenched tight with a _snap._ Outside, the darkened sky flickered with lightning, dark grey clouds blocking any trace of sunlight. Another chill went down his spine, a familiar yet always startling feeling, and now that people weren’t absorbed in their essays, they noticed the wisp of breath that escaped his lips. The first time it had caused him to drop his pencil – this time, it caused a wave of chatter among the students, who turned their glances anxiously to the darkened world outside. Sending one last glance at Mr. Lancer, Danny had to consciously blink the eager green out of his eyes.

“Yes, you may go, Mr. Fenton.”

The proctor turned on her heel. “No he may not!”

Fed up, ghost sense going off _yet again,_ Danny gestured to the window. “You have been to Amity Park before, right?” he asked. “You know, the Most Haunted City in the Country, the Ghost Capital of the World? Ring any bells? Well there’s a ghost attacking right now, and judging by the fact that it was eighty degrees and _sunny_ ten minutes ago, I’m guessing he’s a big one. Now may I _please be excused?”_

Taking swift strides towards the student, the proctor glared harder. “There is no such thing as _ghosts.”_

Danny felt his eyes flash then in frustration. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

The proctor looked at him wide-eyed, the display seeming to steal the air from her lungs. She opened her mouth but closed it soundlessly, outrage filling in her eyes. Suddenly, the power cut out in the room, and a hollow, deep echo of a laugh resounded through the walls. It cut so deep, Danny swore he was hearing it inside his own skull. It was also familiar – familiar in the worst possible way. He knew that laugh. No. _No._ It couldn’t be—

The figure appeared before the class as if out of nowhere, mere mist among the shadows until it solidified into the shape, a broad-shouldered figure with hair like snow white fire and eyes as red as blood blossoms. The anger Danny had felt at his situation disappeared, an iron fist of fear and dread sitting like a boulder of ice in his stomach. It was unmistakable, that logo on his chest, that glow of intimidation he emitted simply from floating there.

“Oh, dear God,” Tucker muttered from his left, and to his right, Sam was reaching for her weapons.

“What – what is that?” the proctor stammered out, staggering backwards and into a desk, trying to distance herself from the clearly malevolent being in front of her.

Finally finding his words, Danny pulled on the tickle of cold in his chest and transformed, black hair turning white, jeans and tee becoming a black and white HAZMAT suit that moved on him like a second skin. “That,” he ground out as he changed, floating up to be at the same level as the amused looking ghost before him, “is a long story.”

“M-M-Mr. Fenton?” the proctor stammered, as students started bolting towards the door, exam papers forgotten entirely. “ _You’re_ … a ghost?”

Never once letting his eyes linger from that deep red gaze, Danny held his ground, calling on sparking green energy to dance around his fingers. “And you’re about three years late to the party. Just for the record, I suggest you run.”

“Oh, but what would be the fun in that, boy?” the ghost drawled lazily, and before Danny could do anything, there was a duplicate of the ghost looming in front of the door, blocking the exit.

His class was trapped.

“How did you get out?” Danny demanded, trying to push the panic he felt to the back of his mind and think clearly. “How are you even here?”

Dan’s upper lip curled in a snarl as he looked over his younger self in disgust. “I exist outside of time, thanks to you – when you changed the future, you messed up. Because when my world was destroyed – and I do mean _my_ world – you kept me out of the timestream. Locked up all nice in safe in one of your father’s idiotic thermoses, left under the watchful eye of good old Clockwork. How is Baby New Year doing, anyhow? Have you heard from him lately?”

Danny’s fists tightened even more, the ectoplasmic energy around them practically pulsing in anticipation. “What did you do to him?”

Dan floated forward, putting a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Me? I would never.” He paused, before shrugging. “Alright, maybe I would. But do you want to know the best part?” The sly grin returned to his face, triumphant. Audacious. “He didn’t even see it coming.”

Feeling the fury flare in his eyes, Danny ground out a simple question. “What do you want?”

Dan smiled at him, then, and it took everything Danny had not to blast him in the face with everything he’s got – because he _knew_ that face. That was a face he more or less saw every day in the mirror, a face tainted by evil and hatred and disgust that Danny felt dirty even associating himself with it. He wanted to knock the fangs right out of that arrogant mouth, blast away every last bit of Dan that he could even remotely resemble. They had the same nose, the same eyebrows, the same facial structure. The older Danny got, the more he looked like him. Danny wanted to destroy all of it.

How could he let this happen? How could he let Dan exist _outside of time_? Danny’s prevented that future from ever happening, he knows that, Clockwork told him that, but that never got rid of the problem. Dan still exists. Dan was never destroyed.

“I want what I’ve always wanted – to rule,” he drawled out, all arrogant and menacing, very much the worst parts of Vlad Plasmius and the worst parts of himself all rolled into one. “To win. I’m going to give you three days to get me the crown and the ring of Pariah Dark. Every day that you don’t deliver past that, I’m going to take one of your friends, classmates, teachers, family. It would be nice to catch up with dear old Mom and Dad, don’t you think? It’s been an awful long time. Jazz too – how is college going for her, hm? I hear she turned down Yale in favor of APU, just to be closer to her little brother. How cute. How… nauseating.”

Green light flashed through the darkened classroom like lightening, hitting with a _crack_ and sending Dan flying backwards and into the wall behind him. “You stay away from them, or I swear to god you will regret it. I beat you once, and I was only fourteen. I can do it again.”

“Can you, though?”

Danny’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been formless inside a metal soup container for the past three years – and all I’ve been doing is getting stronger. If I could beat you then, I can most definitely beat you now.”

Dan laughed, and pushed off from the wall. Making a show of brushing off his pants, Dan chuckled. “Look at you, kid – getting more and more like me every day. I almost believe you. I don’t, of course.” He shrugged. “But—almost.”

Danny grit his teeth. “I am nothing like you.”

Dan raised his eyebrows at the younger ghost. “Of course you’re not. You’re just throwing the first punch, using violence to get what you want, tossing out threats with the intent of carrying them out. No, you’re nothing like me at all.” Danny didn’t trust himself to respond, so didn’t, clenching his teeth so much tighter he was surprised they didn’t crack. Dan held up three fingers. “Three days, or else I might just have to steal that girlfriend away from you – she always has had a knack for the dark side.” He raised his eyebrows. “Three days.”

And then he faded into mist. A few moments later the lights flickered back on, and a few moments after that the storm outside subsided. Still, Danny remained where he was, floating above the class, eyes and hands alight with furious green energy. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, eyes locked on the spot of the wall he had blasted Dan into. It wasn’t until people below set into motion, returning shakily to their desks that someone from below spoke up – Sam.

“Danny?” she said up to him, at first a bit tentative. Then, her voice was more adamant. “Danny, we need to tell your parents. We need to tell them everything.”

He never _had_ told his parents about Dan. That future him, that _evil_ him. He could barely stomach the thought. How scared they’d be, when he confessed it to them—how _disgusted,_ how appalled they’d feel. He could never build his nerve, steady his resolve enough to tell them. Now, it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice.

Slowly, silently, Danny nodded, letting himself drift down to the floor and landing lightly on his feet, still hovering slightly above the floor. He forced the energy he held to dissipate, though really all he wanted to do with it was blast something to pieces – preferably Dan. Tucker, from his other side, placed a hand on his shoulder in solidarity. “We’ll help,” he promised, nodding assuringly. As if anything could make the block of ice in Danny’s stomach lighten.

A beat of silence passed.

And another.

And another.

Finally, a voice spoke up, hoarse. Shaky. “What on _Earth_ is going on here?” Danny looked to the source, the proctor herself. Her eyes were blown wide from panic. She turned her gaze to Danny, still in ghost form, and flushed. “M-Mr. Fenton? Care to explain?”

Not feeling patient in the least bit, Danny grit his teeth once more. “Not really, no. May I be excused?”

The proctor’s eyes, if possible, grew even larger. “ _Not without explaining what is going on_ ,” she protested, hissing the words out angrily.

Danny cast a glance over the room, gazing across the terror-filled eyes of his classmates. “It’s a long story,” he fell back on, bringing his gaze back to the proctor. “I need to go.”

“What you need is to—to… sit down and… finish your exam.”

Danny ignored her, gritting his teeth as he turned to Tucker, and then to Mr. Lancer. “We need to get a ghost alert out to the town,” he told Tucker, who immediately pulled his PDA out and began typing furiously. “And to the school,” Danny continued, to Lancer. “We need to get as many people as we can under ghost shields – the modified kinds that work on halfas too. Which means the hospital, town hall, the high school, Fentonworks.”

Mr. Lancer, brow glistening with anxiety-induced beads of sweat, nodded carefully, pulling the cell phone out of his pocket to call down to the main office. “What threat level are we talking here, Daniel?” he asked, but the dread was evident in his voice.

He didn’t miss the way the boy’s hands tightened angrily, the silvery glow they emitted flaring ectoplasmic green for a moment. “On a scale of the Box Ghost to Pariah Dark? Probably the Fright Knight on steroids. I register on the power scale around a twelve – this guy’s an easy fifteen or sixteen. Pariah Dark is an eighteen. Boxy’s a four – would’ve been a two if it weren’t for that time he stole Pandora’s box.”

Lancer nodded, returning his attention to the phone he held. “Who _was_ that, Fenton?”  a nervous voice spoke up, and turning, Danny saw it was Dash, half-cowering behind an overturned desk. He shook his head a little, his blue eyes wide. “He had—he had your logo on his chest.”

If Danny weren’t so angry, maybe he would’ve considered the possibility that the others saw the similarities between them too, that it wasn’t just him who could spot the resemblances. Unfortunately, his anger had blinded him from seeing how truly complicated this could get. He let his eyes close, his anger momentarily fading into exhaustion. “I know,” he said slowly, and opened his eyes. “I’m going to take care of him. I haven’t figured out how, yet, but I will.”

“But he looked – ”

“Dash,” Danny cut him off, a slight bite to his voice that he hadn’t meant to be there. He shook his head, and if by the way Dash’s nervous yet accusatory expression melted into one of fear and maybe a little bit of pity, Danny must’ve looked pretty miserable. “I know. Please, just – just _don’t._ I’m begging you. I’m going to take care of it.”

There was a beat of silence before Dash nodded slowly, his eyebrows drawing together in what almost looked like concern for the halfa. He turned to Lancer again, not even having the energy to muster up anything more than an imploring expression. “This is important – I need to go talk to my parents.”

As if oblivious to the pure _misery_ and panic radiating off of Danny’s still floating form, the proctor stamped her foot like a child. “Whatever you are, you are not going anywhere until you explain-”

“A really bad ghost is going to do really bad things to really good people unless I find a way to stop him,” Danny cut her off curtly, and returned his gaze to Mr. Lancer’s. “I’m leaving.”

“You step one foot out that door—”

“It’s a good thing I’m gonna fly out through the ceiling, then.”

“With your grades, if you don’t finish this exam you will fail senior English – you won’t be able to _graduate_ , do you understand?”

“Then I won’t graduate,” Danny returned without a beat, jaw clenched tight. “I don’t care.” He gestured to where Dan just flew off. “He has _killed people._ Do you get that? He’s a _murderer_. So with all due respect, if you’re making me choose between graduating high school or potentially saving people’s _lives,_ there’s no question about it.”

“That is not your responsibility!”

Danny’s eyes flared an icy blue at the words, a few shades lighter than his human eye color and glowing coldly. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably, and goosebumps rose on the students’ arms. “He exists because of me,” he spat out, and the floor under where he hovered glistened with frost. “He is my fault. Which means _yes,_ he _is_ my responsibility.”

“ _I will not stand for this kind of treatment from a student, Mr. Fenton!”_

Danny opened his mouth with a retort, but didn’t get it out in time. Sam grabbed his elbow gently, and Lancer stepped forward.

“That’s enough, Janice,” he finally cut in. He turned to Danny, nodding again, apologetically. “You can go.”

Shoulders practically deflated in relief, eyes fading back to green. “ _Thank_ you.”

“Perhaps you ought to take Mr. Foley and Miss Manson as well, hm?”

They were already flight-ready with their backpacks on and their Wrist Rays out.  A Fenton Bazooka sat ready in Tucker’s hands, while Sam gripped an ecto-gun in what looked like anticipation of a fight. But Danny shook his head adamantly, and they sent him confused glances.

“What do you mean _no_?” Sam asked, her voice containing a little bit of heat. “You can’t honestly expect us to let you face him alone, do you?” She took a step closer to him, pulling on his elbow and turning him to look him square in the eyes. “He knows exactly what to do to get to you. He knows every single chink in your armour, Danny.”

Danny’s jaw tightened, hardening his resolve. “That’s the point. He knows that the best way to get to me is through you, and Tuck, and Jazz, and my parents. He knows the only power he has over me is through you guys. You’re staying under the ghost shields until I get rid of him.”

Sam’s eyes widened in outrage, but when she opened her mouth to shoot back a reply, Danny cut her off, already pressing forward in his plans. “I need to borrow a cell phone.”

He sighed when approximately twenty-seven phones were forced in his direction.

Grabbing the nearest one, he ignored the way goosebumps formed on the hand holding it as he got closer and took it, dialing his parents’ number and praying to God that for once, they’d actually hear the phone.

It took three rings for them to answer. “Fentonworks Ghost Specialists at your service! What can I do for—”

“I need you to get into the Ghost Assault Vehicle, turn on the ghost shield, and pick Jazz up from college. Like—now. I need you to go now.”

There was a slight pause. “Danny?”

Danny held the phone tight, slightly annoyed. “Dad, it’s really, really important, okay? No matter what, I need you and Jazz to stay under the ghost shield. And I need Mom to put the shield up at the house to get other people under it. I need her to get the word out and activate the other shields around town. We need to get as many people under ghost shields as fast as possible – the strongest kind you’ve got. We need to put them up and _keep them up_ for the foreseeable future. You can’t take them down for anything,” Over the PA System, a voice started speaking:

“This is a Code Green – Ghost Alarm, threat level ten. Please remain in your classrooms until further notice.”

“Did he say threat level _ten?”_ Jack’s voice came through on the phone, before across the classroom, the students were getting the warning sent out by the city to get under a ghost shield and stay there. “Danny-boy, what’s going on? I didn’t pick up any ghost activity on the radar…”

_That’s because the radar is calibrated to ignore my ecto-signature so I don’t set it off every time I go ghost,_ he thought miserably. _It’s ignoring his, too._

“Dad, go get Jazz. Put the ghost shields up and don’t let it down, okay? Not for anything or anyone, not even me. _Especially_ not me.”

“Son, what’s – what’s going on?”

“And don’t trust the radar, necessarily, okay? It’s a long story, and I-I promise you, I’ll tell you everything, but he’s not going to show up on the radar, necessarily, just like I don’t show up on the radar. Okay? So you have to keep an eye out.”

Over the PA system: “Ghost shield will be activated in sixty seconds – please stand by for further instruction.”

“I need to go or I’ll get locked in. Go get Jazz, put the shield up, don’t take it down. I have my Fenton Phones, so once you get in the GAV get mom on too and call me on Channel 18. I’ll explain, I’ll tell you – I’ll tell you everything, okay? I promise. Just – please go get Jazz. Please.”

A beat of silence, and Danny cast a worried glance outside. Tuck tugged on his elbow, nodding towards the window leading outside with a sort of reluctant looking resignation in his eyes. It was clearly a _I’m mad at you for not taking us with you but if you want to go you have to go now or you’ll get trapped inside the ghost shield_ tug.

“Alright, son,” Jack finally answered, and he heard his mom in the background ask him, “Jack, what’s going on?”

“I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” More insistent nudging from Tucker.

“Danny – please, uh. Please be careful. Okay?”

“Always am, Dad. Don’t worry.” Even to him, the words sounded forced and thin. “It’ll be fine. Piece of cake, really.”

“I’ll—I’ll tell Mom and call you on the way to get Jazz. Channel 18?”

Danny closed his eyes, and if he were human at that moment, he was sure his heart would be hammering in his ears. “Channel 18.”

And with that, they hung up.

Seconds later, Danny had disappeared through the ceiling of the classroom.

Students ran to the windows to watch, but by the time they got there, he had completely vanished from sight, leaving behind a classroom of terrified students, an abandoned essay, and his pencil, still laying on the tiled floor.


	2. Chapter 2

The phone was gripped so tightly in Jack’s hand, he was surprised it didn’t break. “Danny—” he started, his voice tight and his throat closing. “Please, uh… Please be careful.” The words, he knew, would fall on deaf ears; it’s become a standard part of their conversations, as ordinary and commonplace, as _habitual,_ as asking how school was when he finally ventures home and drops his backpack on the chair by the door.

But somehow, this was different. Jack knew it. Danny knew it.

Jack swallowed, nodding to himself as he forced his voice to work. “Okay?”

There was a slight pause, just the smallest catch of Danny’s breath on the other line, before his son responded. “Always am, Dad,” he said, and his voice was wry and full of false confidence, but there was something _shaken_ underneath it that Jack caught onto immediately because, well, ever since coming clean back in Antarctica that kid’s been as transparent as a plastic bag when it came to lying to his parents, and they all damn well knew it. “Don’t worry,” he continued on, nevertheless, and Jack’s gaze found Maddie’s across the kitchen, who was watching him with wide, anxious eyes of her own. “It’ll be fine. Piece of cake, really.”

Jack nodded, still holding Maddie’s gaze as he did. “I’ll—I’ll tell Mom and call you on the way to get Jazz,” he agreed, and, God bless that woman, Maddie caught on enough to spring into action, gathering the keys to the GAV, a first aid kit from under the sink, and a few ecto-guns from the pantry. “Channel 18?”

A hesitation, and Jack swore, his heart was hammering in his ears hard enough for the both of them. “Channel 18.”

And the line went dead.

It was as if he was frozen in place, and for a moment, he made not a word, not a sound. What could have… what could have _shaken_ him so much? What was going on? What kind of monster was released bad enough to issue a Threat Level Ten warning out to the city?

When Maddie returned to his side, pressing the GAV keys into his hands, Jack blinked himself out of his reverie, hanging the phone back on the hook. He blinked down at his wife and took the keys from her.

Maddie’s countenance was remarkably calm. Must be the scientist in her, Jack thought, as she turned to retrieve the duffel bag of things she’d put together for him, handing it to him by the long strap as well. She held his gaze, the perfect picture of _not panicking._ “What threat level?” was all she said, and Jack took the strap of the bag into his shaking hands.

He swallowed. “Ten.”

Maddie nodded. “I take it that it showed up at the school?”

Jack, mirroring Maddie, gave her a nod.

“What does he want us to do?”

Jack let out a breath through his nose. “I’m gonna go pick up Jazzy-pants from school—he wants you to put up the ghost shields around town,” he filled her in. “And he said to use the strongest ones we have.”

That, though, made Maddie’s expression falter slightly. Jaw tightening just a little, as she took a small breath, her chin shivered gently. “Is he—he won’t be able to get in, once they’re up. He knows that, right?”

Jack nodded, trying to file away every important piece of information he’d just learned. Trying to compartmentalize. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be, knowing his son’s life (half-life?) was in near-constant danger, these days. “He knows,” he affirmed, and turned to rummage through one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled out two, small comm units and handed one to Maddie. “Put that on Channel 18. I’ll call once I get on the road.”

He turned to leave, but she caught his elbow as he did, her hand small on his arm but with a grip like iron. “Jack,” she got out, and her voice warbled, finally giving way to that same type of terror that Jack felt aching in his bones. “ _Where is Danny now?”_

And before he had the chance to open his mouth and offer a feeble and unhelpful _I don’t know,_ a flash of glowing black and white streaked through the front door intangibly, not sparing them a second of time before shooting through the floor below their feet. No stopping, no hesitation, no explanation. Merely a streak of unnatural light and a sudden chill that seemed to come out of nowhere. The parents’ gazes found each other, and it was as if invisible hands held them frozen for a moment. A beat of silence passed. What felt like an eternity later, they finally sprang into action, turning in sync and bolting for the door downstairs.

By the time they made their way down to the lab, the heavy metal doors to the Ghost Portal were already slamming shut in Danny’s wake.

* * *

It wasn’t three seconds after Danny disappeared that the ghost shield shimmered into visibility outside, green and unnatural and daunting, glowing slightly with its anti-ecto properties yet somehow familiar and comforting. The brief sense of relief that accompanied the stabilized shield soon vanished – and, as if its manifestation were some kind of signal from hell, chaos erupted in the classroom.

Tucker and Sam were trapped, classmates surrounding them, demanding answers about what was going on. Tucker had grabbed Sam’s arm in distress, but Sam gave him a pointed look that clearly said _Not a word, Foley._

At the front of the room, Mr. Lancer had given up trying to maintain order, and instead was holding the emergency ghost-talkie up to his ear – something all teachers were required to carry with them at all times, as of this academic year – his other hand pressing tightly over his opposite ear, trying to block out the sounds of the students.

With determination, Sam grabbed hold of Tucker’s arm and pulled him towards the exit of the classroom. The students had become less demanding, as their temporary adrenaline fueled irritation and anger gave way to confusion and fear. Sam paused just at the door, turning back to try and catch Lancer’s eye.

When he finally looked their way, his brow was set and determined and he was speaking almost calmly into the talkie – he, like many others have adapted to become, was staying calm in the face of disaster. Sam saw through the signs, though, of course. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, his fingers were white-knuckled around the talkie, and he was leaning forward onto his desk, supporting himself with his free hand as if he wasn’t sure he could stay upright on his own. He was scared – terrified, even. He was perceptive. He would’ve notices the matching emblems on Danny’s chest and _his_ chest – would have noticed the pattern of language when they spoke to each other, noticed how they had this intricate, personal _knowledge_ of each other so intense that it was clear they’d known each other for a very, very long time. He would’ve noticed the waves of hatred rolling off of Danny so hard that the room had become _cold,_ icy with a hollowing, deadly fury that Danny clearly felt so strongly he subconsciously emitted from his very aura. He was perceptive. He could probably put two and two together.

Still, Lancer didn’t break his line of communication over the talkie, didn’t hesitate to lock eyes with Sam, her hand still frozen on the door handle, and give her a very clear, very precise nod of permission.

It was something they’d compromised on – the trio and the school board. Once everything was out in the open, the school assumed their—especially Danny’s—poor attendance record and semi-regular disappearing from class had to do with ghost hunting. At first, they thought the school would get mad at them about it, that they’d be in trouble for ditching class to go risk their lives. And they were, at first – they said how they involved themselves in something that they shouldn’t have, that they weren’t going to allow it to happen any longer, and that they should leave it to the professionals.

Danny, who was still working through the fact that the entire world now knew that he was essentially half dead, had spoken up then, hesitantly but confidently. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful or anything, really, but when it comes to fighting ghosts…” he trailed off, shrugging a little generically. “We sort of _are_ the professionals. As close to professionals as there can ever be, at least.”

One of the board members – a benefactor of sorts that only ever showed her face in cases of extreme need – had arched a perfectly made-up eyebrow at him. “Are you implying that the professional ghost hunters out there are incompetent? Like your own parents?”

A smile had flickered on Danny’s face for a moment. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re great in the lab and probably the two most intelligent people I know. But, ah – ghost _hunting_?” He shook his head, but there was a fondness in it.  “I mean, it’s not exactly their forte. They didn’t even put together that their number one target was living under their own roof.”

And that was pretty much the end of that. The school board had been significantly more lenient with them than they’d ever expected them to be, with one main, emphasized condition: if they needed to be dismissed, it they needed to _leave,_ at least one faculty member had to grant permission or, at the very least, be alerted of the fact that they were leaving. It was a small price to pay.

Sam, still gripping onto Tucker’s elbow, returned Mr. Lancer’s nod with one of her own before pushing the classroom door open and pushing herself and Tucker into the frantic crowds in the hallways.

She knew what was happening, of course—students were being herded from their classrooms to the gym, which was specially equipped with anti-ecto defense modules as well as the ghost shield. But the sheer volume of people moving made it hard to orient themselves—it was like walking head first into a gushing river, white water rapids and all. Before they knew what was happening, Sam lost her grip on Tucker’s arm, and they were swept up with the tide.

She tried calling for Tucker, but it was pointless, her voice drowned out in the commotion. She grit her teeth, trying to find him again, but there were people on every side of her, pushing, yelling, crying, shoving their way to what they were _foolish_ enough to believe was safety.

But Sam knew better than that. When it came to Dan, she wasn’t sure _anyplace_ was safe.

Suddenly, an arm hooked around her waist and pulled her away from the hordes of scrambling people into a smaller, less populated side hallway. Immediately, instincts kicked in, and before she could process the face, the hat, the glasses, Tucker had fallen down to the floor choking, coughing relentlessly as he tried to catch his breath.

Sam’s eyes widened, fist lowering immediately as she reached down to help him up. “Sorry, sorry, Tucker—are you okay?” she called over the commotion. Away from the mass of people, now, she was beginning to hear herself think again.

Coughing and covering his mouth with one elbow, he accepted her help with his free hand, pulling himself back to his feet. “Mm,” he got out weakly, between hacks, “stellar. You know—” he broke off, coughing again. “You know,” he repeated, clearing his throat, “that would’ve been pretty awesome if I wasn’t on the receiving end of it.” Coughing a few more times, he seemed to catch his breath enough to talk again. “I mean, jeez, Sam—a punch to the throat with that much anger behind it? Where’ve you been hiding that?”

Sam smirked, glancing back out into the crowds of people. It was beginning to thin out, the majority of the people making it into the gym, or at least coming close. “I like to save it for special occasions,” she replied off-handedly. “We need to get out of here.”

“I’ll say,” Tucker agreed, and stood at her shoulder, squinting out into the hallway, scanning the crowd. “There is one person we ought to find, though, before we do.”

Sam nodded. She’d been thinking the same thing. “Yeah, Valerie would want to know—but there’s no way we can find her—” She broke off, eating her own words as she spotted a head of curly brown hair and a signature yellow shirt. “—in this,” she finished lamely, and shot a glare at Tucker, who’d raised an eyebrow at her. “Shut up, Tucker.”

He shrugged innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

Moving a bit slower through the crowd than the rest of the people gathered, it didn’t take them long to catch Valerie’s attention from off to the side. And when they did—man, for once, they were pretty darned glad Danny wasn’t around.

Fists tight at her sides, Val bypassed any semblance of a greeting by making a sound in the back of her throat that could only be described as a _growl_ as she joined them in the shadows of the side hallway. “I have had it up to _here_ with these damn _ghosts!_ ” she ground out through her teeth.

Tucker winced a little, holding up his hands as if to calm her. “Look, we understand—” he began, but when Val cut him a glare that could kill, he lowered his hands back to his sides. “Look, we know you’re trying to be done with all the ghost stuff, you know, start a new chapter before college and all that, but we could _really_ use your help. Danny could really use your help.”

Though her eyes stayed alight with annoyance and frustration, a little bit of the anger seemed to physically deflate out of her, jaw unclenching slightly. “Is he okay?”

“If he is, he probably won’t be for long,” Sam told her, and the weight of the _honesty_ in her voice hung in the air around them. “He needs our help.”

“Help with _what_ though?” Valerie asked, shaking her head as she glanced between the two. “Guys, what the _hell_ is going on here?”

Tucker and Sam exchanged glances, an entire conversation passing between them in the blink of an eye. Tucker looked back to the huntress, shrugging a little as his face twisted into a grimace. “Long story short? There was an alternate timeline where a bad choice Danny made led to his entire family—and us—being killed? So he basically had the humanity ripped out of him to stop the pain of it, and his ghost side killed his human side and then ripped the ghost out of Vlad? And Danny’s ghost half merged with Vlad’s ghost half and became one of the worst ghosts in the world and ended up essentially destroying the free world as we know it.”

Valerie blinked at him. Slowly, almost _painfully_ slowly, her eyebrows began to draw together. “So Danny… killed… _humanity—”_ She broke off, the fragments of the story coming together with a wince. “He… _what?”_

Sam grit her teeth. They didn’t have _time_ to go over this right now. She shook her head. “Look. We stopped him—Danny stopped him. Trapped him in a Thermos that Clockwork promised to guard, then we went back in time and Danny didn’t make the same decision he made the first time around, and that timeline, that _world_ that he created before doesn’t exist anymore. Be he does. Dan _does._ And he got out. We don’t know how, but he did. And he’s here. And he’s threatening to kill Danny’s family unless he gets him the ring and crown of Pariah Dark within the next three days.”

 _That_ sure snapped the huntress out of it. She shook her head, resolve visibly hardening. “Absolutely not. We can’t let some ghost get his hands on those, especially if he’s as terrible as you say he is. And we definitely can’t let him _kill_ anyone. We have to stop him.”

Tucker made a small gesture with his hands, like: _well,_ duh.

“And that’s where I come in,” she continued, and gave them a small nod. “I see.” She paused for a moment, a wave of indecipherable _something_ passing over her face. Again, her eyebrows drew together slightly. “Where’s Danny now?” she asked. “Is he okay?”

Sam sighed, shrugging helplessly. By now, the hallway was practically empty. “I assume he’s going to the Ghost Zone to find Clockwork—we need to figure out what’s going on, how he got out in the first place. We have to go help him.”

“What you _need,”_ a nasally voice interrupted them, and suddenly a figure was there, looming over them from the entrance of the side hallway, casting a long shadow over them, “is to _get to the auditorium immediately._ Don’t you kids hear the alarms blaring?”

Caught, flinching, the trio emerged from the hallway to regard the teacher wearily. Tall and lanky, as unintimidating as a man could ever be _,_ Mr. Martin wasn’t exactly a steel wall of an obstacle to get through. Still, he was their teacher, and even after that flicker of recognition passed over his features as they emerged from the shadows, he recovered from it quickly and hardened his own resolve, the corner of his moustache twitching slightly. “Alright, you three, get a move on! The school’s on lockdown until further notice, all students need to report to the gym! Go!”

Tucker looked at Sam and, again, a silent conversation passed between the two. He looked back to the teacher. “Mr. Martin, we need to go, our friend needs _help—”_

“Mr. Foley,” the spectacled teacher cut him off, turning them by the shoulders and beginning to urge them down the hallway in the direction of the gymnasium, “I’m well aware that you and Miss Manson have a knack for getting involved in this sort of thing, but I’m going to have to insist. It’s far too dangerous for me to allow you to get involved. Mr. Fenton—”

“Needs our help,” Sam ground out, digging her heels into the floor to stop her momentum. “We know what we’re doing—we’ve been at it a lot longer than even the Guys in White. You have to let us go.”

At the end of the day, they had to give Mr. Martin credit for looking genuinely apologetic when he said, “I’m sorry, but the school is on lockdown. With a Threat Level 10, we can’t risk it. I’m sure Mr. Fenton can handle it, whatever it is.”

Something like white hot fury nearly blinded Sam, then. How still, after years have passed, people could still be this inconsiderate was beyond her. How they could take such advantage over Danny’s stupid _altruism,_ like he had the _obligation_ to do the things that he does, like he was just some newspaper headline instead of a person, a _human,_ who bleeds and hurts and aches every day of his life for the sake of the lives of the people around him. Danny would jump in front of a train sans intangibility powers and supernatural healing is it meant saving people’s lives—and people _still_ take advantage of that. It infuriates her.

“Don’t worry,” Tucker whispered in her ear as they reached the stairs leading into the gymnasium, the volume once again increasing as they joined hordes of people once more. “We’ll find a way out. So many students, they can’t possibly keep an eye on everyone.”

“We’re not exactly _everyone,_ Tuck,” she pointed out bitterly, already noting the eyes that followed them as they, once more, retreated to the outskirts of the crowd. Where it was quieter. “We’re Danny’s best friends. They know how involved we are – they know nine times out of ten we’re out there fighting alongside him. Something this big, if they don’t want us getting involved, they’re going to keep eyes on us at all times.”

Valerie smirked, tapping something on the watch she wore on her left wrist. “Don’t worry,” she assured them, and part of the armour that is so in tuned to her mind, to her body, seemed to unfurl around her hand like a glove. Pink sparks danced in her palm, away from curious eyes, and Val raised an eyebrow at the pair. “I have a plan to get us out of here.”

“And then we’ll find Danny?”

The huntress nodded. “And then we’ll find Danny,” she agreed, and her eyes were sincere and her words were a little sad. “Wherever he is. That boy needs us.”

* * *

He could _feel_ the fury radiating off his body as he flew. It was similar to how his aura takes on a blueish tint sometimes when he uses his ice powers—it was as if his anger turned his aura a pulsing, charged green. Like at any moment, it was going to explode out of him and destroy everything in his path.

He tried to clear his mind, keeping it blank as he flew. He didn’t spare the islands and doors he’d passed even the crumbs of a thought; in fact, he purposefully tried blanking as much of it out as he could. He didn’t want to think about other ghosts right now. He couldn’t think about other ghosts right now. Because there was one ghost, only one ghost that mattered to him in that instant—and _he had created him_.  That was the real stinger, when he got down to it.

He shot through the Zone like a bullet from a gun, refusing to let the fury and dread and guilt crush his chest and leave him staggering. He’d be no use to anyone if he gave in to those emotions, those feelings; giving in to them would guarantee the world would crash down around him, and that was something he couldn’t afford to let happen. People’s _lives_ depended on him staying focused,  not letting him slip through the cracks.

He just needed to get there. He needed to go. He pushed himself, flying faster.

But that momentum stopped suddenly as soon as Clockwork’s tower came into view. Coming to a screeching halt, it took Danny a moment to process the scene in front of him. Rubble and concrete was all that remained of the ghost of time’s home, the building itself reduced to nothing more than a single, crumbling brick wall, every monitor and gear and machine vanished into thin air. No sign of Clockwork anywhere. Scattered among the debris, small metallic silver-and-green shards sprinkled along the ground.

Danny was willing to bet it was the shattered Fenton Thermos.

All of that, though, seemed small in comparison to what he noticed next. Laying in front of it all, in front of the rubble and the brick and the dust and debris, a staff laid broken in two. Splintered and broken and burnt. Next to it, a small medallion in the shape of a gear was bent out of shape, the ribbon it hung from frayed and tattered.

Destroyed. It had all been destroyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my DP dump. For y'all just tuning in, I had approx. 183 pages of unposted DP stuff, so I figured, why the hell not throw 'em all on this dumb website and share them with you lovely people
> 
> I think this is gonna stay a one-shot. I dunno. I kinda like how it doesn't resolve anything (on another note, I suck at resolutions, so there's that)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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